To the memory of Katyusha
by Eshter
Summary: Russia and France find themselves talking over a drink and remember those women who have marked them so much.-RusFra.


The wind made twirled the blond curls of the French that Ivan watched with attention. For several years now, the beauty of the oldest haunted him, reminding him every minute of his life that they will be nothing but friends. Friends who sometimes meet in a bar to talk.

The freshness of the air add a little more white to his skin, giving it a cadaverous look. It didn't bother him more than that, being used to the harsh Russian winters ,but Francis was more affected by it than him...

-You know my friend, I will end up by giving up my daily visits to you, The blond said.

-Da, I do not blame you for that ! the slavic answered.

The bottle of vodka they had ordered arrived and they poured a little into their glasses. Neither of them spoke, watching the bottom of their glass of alcohol. A strange tension reigned between them, something new and unknown. But not unpleasant.

Russia listened to his friend's breathing as hypnotized, and he kept repeating to himself that everything in France was perfect.

His face, his body, his character, his eyes, his mouth, his voice, his breathing...

Everything in France is perfect.

He licked his lips as he watched the European drink his vodka.

In the Russian's head, every action of his friend is tendentious. A call to lust.

-Regardless ,this is crazy ...

-What ? Ivan asked.

-The time we spent in this world. I have so few memories of my childhood, my mother, Rome ... even if some will remain anchored in me forever, like my dear Jeanne or Napoleon.

-Joan was a courageous woman, may she rest in peace ... but you will not be angry if I tell you that I'm not very fond of this good old Napoleon?

-Haha ! I know it my friend ! But I will always remember him. Well...bad...I do not really know ,but he was a great man... in his ambitions ! because as for the size...

Ivan burst out laughing. Napoleon was certainly a man of power, but he was not tall. The first time he had seen it, he could not help but find him ridiculous.

-But , for my eyes, Joan will always be the most precious warrior I 've ever seen...

-I guess, she was brave.

-Yes ... but enough about me, you too had important women, no ?

Important women, that yes he had some of them !

The Romanov girls first, and especially Anastasia with whom he amused himself by trapping the rest of the family apart. And after her, he remembers especially the one he named Katyusha.

Yekaterina Vassilievna Boudanova, a former aviator of the Soviet era. She was with Lidia Litviak, the fighters aces. The only ones in history ! And he was proud of them.

He had not really fought alongside Litviak but Budanova had been one of his best teammates.

Not only was she an aviation genius, but she also had a big heart. She was nice even with certain enemies, her comrades often reproached her for that matter. To which she replied: "A soldier does not always choose to go to battle, be compassionate with the most unfortunate, do not lose our humanity."

Yes, a good women.

He took a sip of his vodka, his eyes staring at the counter. Hundreds of memories assailed him and nostalgia invaded his body. He would almost regret the war. Almost.

Beside him, France was watching him, smiling slightly. Ivan had his own lot of heroes, and heroines, two of them are aces.

How many times had he heard Belarus praise the great Lidia Litviak, or Ukraine to praise Yekaterina Boudanova?

Far too many times for him to forget the names of these two women.

He carried his glass to his lips and took a sip of the contents. And in a whisper, he sang the words of this well-known Russian melody ...

-Rastsvetali iabloni y grushi, poplily tomany nad rekoj, Vykhodila na bereg Katyusha, na visokij bereg na krutoj.

Ivan did not listen to the song, too lost in his memories. But he remembered one thing: Katyusha.

Without realizing it, tears ran down on his red cheeks and his breathing became irregular.

Memories attacked him ,like razor blades tearing him heart a little more each time.

 _-You should not share your rations, you know? You're going to need it, says the nation to the young woman_ _-These are just children, I can not leave them like that!_

Why did he have to be a nation?

 _-I will soon go to fight, I bid you farewell Ivan!_ _-Do not be defeatist Katyusha!_ _The young woman's smile froze his blood._ _She can not die ..._ _Not now !_

Why did he have to be immortal?

 _-Sir, we have received news of the soldiers fighting at Donbass ! The region will soon be freed from the grip of the Germans !_ _-How many dead ?_ _-More than half of the population, and more than two thousand soldiers._ _-And...Boudanova ?_ _-I'm sorry to tell you but she was shot and killed by the Germans ..._

Why did he have to exist ?

Why are there still wars ! Do they ever have enough of their thirst for power ? Why humans are so cruel to each other !

And why does France sing this damn song that does more harm than good !

But the blond did not stop despite the tears of the slavic. He even sang louder and Ivan came to believe he was doing it on purpose to make him suffer.

Around them, the other customers looked at them strangely, especially this stranger who sings their song with a horrible accent. But among them, some followed him, mumbling the words. An ode to Katyusha, the woman they never knew but whom they hear about every day.

Several voices rose in the bar which surprised Ivan.

Since when do Russians sing in the middle of the crowd ? They, who never give themselves a show of habit. *

Francis, meanwhile, was surprised to see so much solidarity among the men of the bar. He did not expect almost everyone to start singing this song. Real patriots.

He took Ivan's hand and pulled him out, leaving the occupants of the bar in their good mood.

"I am surprised to see them so patriotic ! The blond said , impressed, without letting go of Russia's hand.

-Me too...

Francis smiled and put his hands on Ivan's cheeks to wipe his tears.

-You regret sometimes ? he asked him without removing his hands from his face.

-Yes...a little...

The slavic took one of the French's hands in his and squeezed it.

She was sweet...

-Твае руки горячие...*

-Et les tiennes sont froides.*

-Я знаю.*

Without getting rid of his smile, the French approached Ivan and put his lips against his. The difference between their two mouths was blatant. One was warm and soft, the other was cold and chapped. But they did not seem to care, savoring intimate contact.

This is the first time they have allowed themselves this gesture and they intend to enjoy it as much as possible

-Франция, это первый раз, когда ты позволяете себе целовать меня.*

-This is the first time you give me the opportunity to do it.

-You would have done it before ?

-If you gave me permission.

Ivan was silent, not expecting this answer.

Does that mean that for a long time already, France wanted to kiss him ? And maybe even go further ! So he was the one who didn't understood anything then ...

-I give you permission now.

-And can I have the one to go explore the seventh heaven with you ? the French said in a soft voice.

The Slavic bent down, clutching his forehead to Francis's, and murmured:

-Everything you want, любовь.*

It's sad to be a nation when we see those we once loved, die ..

But at least he will not have to face this alone. The affection of France can overcome any pain he may suffer.

 ***Well, there are some exceptions but in general, this is not the case !** ***Your hands are hot.** ***And yours are cold.** ***I know.** ***France, this is the first time you allow yourself to kiss me.** ***My love.**

 **Well...it's not so bad... I think...**

 **Because i do not really speak english and a friend corrected me so...**

 **Sorry for your eyes...**


End file.
